


on ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur

by hihoplastic



Series: The Worst Witch Tumblr Prompts [4]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: They must spend a lot of time working, she decides, for Miss Cackle to have so many of her things in Miss Hardbroom’s office.(or, four times Mildred is a little oblivious, and one time she isn't)





	on ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur

**Author's Note:**

> \- for @middleagedcurves on tumblr, who requested "hecate/ada + coming out to the school," and an anon who requested "hecate/ada + singing in the shower."  
> \- thank you to @raumolirien as always for the beta! <3  
> \- title from _le petit prince_ by antoine de saint exupéry

**_“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret:_**  
**_It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;_**  
**_what is essential is invisible to the eye.”_**  
**\- The Little Prince**

**_i._ **

Mildred shuffles her feet and tries not to wilt under Miss Hardbroom’s glower.

“I was wondering if—if you have time, if you could help me with my paper?” she manages, quickly rifling through her bag to avoid looking at her teacher. “I have a draft. I've been working on it all week but I'm not sure it's any good and—”

She stops when she looks up, catches the shock on Miss Hardbroom’s face, her eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted. She doesn't look angry, thankfully, and it bolsters Mildred enough to hold out her paper.

HB stares at her for a long moment, and Mildred’s certain she's going to turn her away, to tell her she should be able to handle a simple essay on her own; instead, she takes the paper, glancing at it briefly before looking back at Mildred, and nods.

“Sit,” she says, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of her desk, and Mildred quickly obeys, setting her bag on the floor, watching as Miss Hardbroom stiffly lowers herself into the second chair.

She says nothing as she reads, her face blank, and Mildred squirms, eyes flickering between Miss Hardbroom and around her office.

It's austere, lacks all the color and knicknacks of Miss Cackle’s office, or even Miss Drill’s. She's avoided coming here as long as possible, but things have been...better between them lately. Miss Hardbroom almost complimented her last week, and she hasn't screwed anything up recently, and Mildred wants terribly to take advantage of the truce, to show Miss Hardbroom that she is trying, that she does care, about magic and potions and spells and she wants so badly to be a good witch.

Wants, if she's honest with herself, for Miss Hardbroom, just once, to be proud of her.

Her hope dwindles when Miss Hardbroom sighs, and sets the paper on the desk between them.

“You're rambling,” she says, without preamble, summoning a quill with red ink. “Your writing is virtually incoherent, your evidence weak, and the organization is abominable.”

Mildred bows her head and stares at the floor. She should have known better. Better than to think HB would actually be willing to help rather than merely point out everything she's done wrong and send her on her way.

“However,” she says, and Mildred looks up, desperately hopeful. “The point you are _attempting_ to make is...sound.”

“It is?”

HB nods, tilts the paper towards Mildred and underlines several sentences in red. “This is what you are trying to prove, correct?”

Mildred squints at her own terrible handwriting and nods.

“Then you should say so at the beginning, not the end. It will give you structure, something you routinely lack.”

She arches an eyebrow, as if daring Mildred to disagree, but her voice is… calm. Almost amused.

For the next hour, Miss Hardbroom asks her questions about her ideas, shows her how to organize them properly, crosses out most of what she's written and makes notes in the margins. Mildred listens avidly, scribbling notes on a piece of scratch paper for later, asks as many questions as she can think of and by the end she feels like she actually has something, that she's said something important.

That she can do this _well._

And Miss Hardbroom seems to agree.

“Come back tomorrow with your next draft,” she says, and Mildred beams, nodding eagerly.

“I will. Thank you, Miss Hardbroom.”

HB doesn't smile, but she does tip her head in acknowledgement before opening her office door with a flick of her wrist, a clear dismissal.

Mildred gathers her things, including a book HB has given her to help with her research, and makes her way toward the door.

She wants to say something, to express her gratitude, but HB has her back to Mildred, already working on something else, and instead, Mildred takes a quick moment to glance around the room again.

It seems somehow brighter than when she first entered, less imposing. She notices a few pieces of art on the walls, a few plants, HB’s familiar, curled up on the bookshelf, a tea set on the coffee table in front of the fireplace, a sweater hanging on a hook behind the door, a pair of pink slippers tucked under one of the wingbacked chairs.

Mildred blinks.

_Pink slippers?_

She looks at the tea set again, also pink. The sweater, pink. And familiar looking.

She’s positive HB wouldn't be caught dead in anything other than black, so why in the world—

“Did you need something else, or are you quite through?”

HB doesn't turn, but the edge is back in her voice and Mildred stumbles out an apology, quickly leaving and shutting the door behind her.

When she turns, she runs straight into Miss Cackle.

“Sorry, dear,” she says, smiling warmly. “I was looking for Miss Hardbroom, is she in?”

Mildred stares at her pink dress.

“I—yes. She was just helping me with my research paper.”

“Very good,” Miss Cackle says, but Mildred can tell she’s distracted, eyes flickering to the closed door, and Mildred quickly makes her excuses, hurries away, and stops after she turns the corner, peering back.

Miss Cackle knocks, and the door opens, and she catches the tail end of Miss Cackle’s bright smile before she enters. Her voice is soft, like it always is, but there’s something else, something buried in the tone that Mildred can’t quite identify.

“Have you seen my sweater?” Miss Cackle asks, and Mildred strains to listen.

“The abominable pink one?”

Miss Cackle laughs.

Miss Hardbroom says something Mildred doesn’t catch, but she can hear the teasing lilt in Miss Cackle’s reply, “Oh, it’s _Morgana_ that’s stolen it, has she?”

Mildred doesn’t hear Miss Hardbroom’s reply. The door closes, muffling their voices, and Mildred shakes her head.

They must spend a lot of time working, she decides, for Miss Cackle to have so many of her things in Miss Hardbroom’s office.

  


**_ii._ **

There’s no way out.

Mildred’s considered their predicament from every angle, consulted Maud (who was no help, what with being a mouse and all), and tried desperately to come up with another solution, but there isn't one. It's too late and too dark and they're too _not where they're supposed to be_ but Miss Cackle hadn't answered her door and she doesn't think any of the other teachers would be much help so that leaves one person, one choice:

“We have to wake up HB.”

In her two and a half years at Cackle’s, she's somehow managed to avoid that particular horror, but she's heard the stories. Miss Hardbroom on a good day is enough to contend with, but apparently sleep-deprived and inconvenienced HB is much, much worse.

Standing in front of the wood door, Mildred looks at Enid desperately. “You're sure you don't know any more spells?”

Enid rolls her eyes. “If I did do you think we’d be here?”

Mildred sighs. “We are so getting expelled.”

Enid nods, but together, they lift their hands to knock and—

They both freeze. Mildred’s sure she’s misheard. There’s a humming coming from Miss Hardbroom’s room, faint and decidedly shrill sounding. She can't place it, has never heard anything like it, and she wants to back away.

She looks at Enid in question, but she seems equally bewildered, her face scrunched up and one finger in her ear.

“What is that?”

“I don't know. Do you think—maybe something happened to Miss Hardbroom?”

Mildred panics, desperately trying to figure out if she should knock or burst in (Enid grabs her hand before she can reach for the doorknob) or turn tail and run.

“It sounds like a cat is dying.”

“Maybe we should come back,” Enid suggests.

Mildred shakes her head. “If we don't figure this out before sun-up, Maud could be stuck this way. Ethel too.”

“At least then she would keep her mouth shut,” Enid mumbles.

Mildred ignores her, raises her hand again when the sound morphs, and she can hear words through the painful screech.

_“I'm stepping through the door and I'm floating in a most peculiar way and the stars look very different today…”_

Mildred blinks. She knows those words. Knows that song.

Singing.

The banshee sound is _singing_ and it both relieves and terrifies her at the same time because it's only singing but if HB knew that Mildred knew that she’s possibly the worst singer on planet Earth she’d have to change her name and run away to escape HB’s wrath and she _really_ doesn't want to do that, especially with Maud still nibbling a piece of cheese in her robe pocket and Ethel doing a perfect impression of a gold ring...somewhere.

When she looks at Enid, her whole face is contorted from trying not to laugh.

“Enid,” she scolds, and Enid slaps her hands over her mouth. Her shoulders are shaking, and Mildred has to look away to keep her face straight.

On the other side of the door, HB hits a note so off key that Mildred has to bite her lip to focus. They need _help_. Ethel and Maud are counting on them, and this is no time to think about the fact that cold Miss Hardbroom sings David Bowie at the top of her lungs when she thinks she’s alone and yeah, she’s _really_ going to have to change her name and—

“Mildred Hubble.”

The voice comes not from behind the door, but behind Mildred and Enid. They both start, whirling to face the imposing figure of Miss Hardbroom, standing in the hallway, glaring at them.

“I—” She clears her throat. “I was about to knock, I—” She frowns. She can still hear the voice. “We thought—”

“If you're out here, who’s in there?” Enid asks, and Mildred flinches, elbowing Enid in the side.

Miss Hardbroom’s eyes narrow, and when she speaks her words are slow and clipped, like she's trying to rein herself in. The part of Mildred that wants desperately to please her teacher feels ill at the sight.

“ _What_ have you done _this time_?”

Mildred and Enid look at one another, then back to HB’s expectant expression.

“It wasn't our fault—”

“Ethel thinks she's so much better than the rest of us—”

“And Maud was only trying to help—”

“Even I know not to try a merging spell—”

“But she sort of...got turned into a spider, but a friendly one!—”

“But Ethel insisted she was fine and then went and got herself turned into a ring—”

“And we tried to change her back but instead sort of just turned her into a mouse instead—”

“And went and fell down the sewer and we can't find her—”

“ _Enough.”_

They both fall silent, Enid looking annoyed at being interrupted, Mildred proferring Mouse Maud in her cupped hands.

HB’s fingers twitch against her sides, but otherwise she doesn't move. Doesn't yell, there’s no smoke coming out her ears like Mildred half expected, and she thinks this silence, the intense way Miss Hardbroom is merely _staring_ at them is far, far worse.

Even with her hair down, a black dressing gown tied around her waist, she’s formidable, and Mildred blurts out an apology.

Miss Hardbroom holds up a hand, and Mildred shuts her mouth.

“Give me the mouse,” she says finally, and Mildred nods, carefully placing Maud in HB’s hands. The moment Mildred steps away, Maud vanishes. Mildred’s eyes widen, and she's about to ask when HB speaks, her voice all the more terrifying for its low, even timbre.

“You will go to Miss Cackle’s office. You will wait there, in silence, for Miss Cackle and myself and then you will explain, from the beginning, exactly why and how this happened.”

“We tried Miss Cackle’s room first,” Enid says, “She wasn't there—”

“ _I_ will find Miss Cackle,” HB snaps. “Now go.”

She flicks her wrist, and the two of them appear in Miss Cackle’s office.

“That was weird,” Enid whispers loudly.

“I've never seen HB so calm.”

“We’re totally done for, aren't we?”

Mildred nods miserably and plunks down in the chair across from Miss Cackle’s desk. “At least we made it to year two.”

Enid nods, but she looks distracted, frowning at the door.

“You don't think—” she starts, then shakes her head.

“What?”

“That voice. It almost sounded like… like Miss Cackle.”

Mildred’s mouth drops open. “What would Miss Cackle be doing in HB’s room at two in the morning?”

“And singing?”

Enid’s voice drops to a whisper. “Are they—?”

They pause and look at each other for a long moment, then, together: “Nah.”

Enid giggles. “But can you imagine? HB and Miss Cackle?”

Mildred wrinkles her nose. “I'd rather not.”

Enid shrugs. “I don't know. Maybe HB would relax a little if she were—”

“If I were _what_ , Miss Nightshade?”

They both start, hunching under Miss Hardbroom’s cold stare. She’s dressed now, Mouse Maud in hand, Miss Cackle behind her wearing a bemused expression.

Maybe there’s some hope after all, Mildred thinks.

As long as they can get Ethel out of the gutter.  


 

**_iii._ **

Cackle’s without Miss Hardbroom is a bit like living in a bizarro world, Mildred decides. Everything appears the same on the surface, but the energy is different—and, she’s noticed, not entirely for the better. Students act out a bit more, try to get away with things that they normally wouldn't dare. Little - mostly harmless - pranks, talking in class, and a lot more goofing off.

It was fun at first, not having to hold her breath to see if HB was about to pop up out of nowhere with a disapproving glower; but by the fourth day, even Mildred has grown tired of Miss Bat’s ineffective pleas and Miss Drill’s shouting.

Even Miss Cackle seems on edge, and Mildred’s caught her more than once staring out the window in some random hallway, as if watching the skies.

The same skies today that are now rolling with thunder, a downpour that made Miss Drill sigh and give up, giving them the two hours of broomstick lessons off.

Everyone had cheered, of course, except Ethel, who muttered something about Miss Hardbroom disapproving.

“Well Miss Hardbroom isn't here, is she?” Miss Drill had snapped, adding grudgingly, “I wish she were,” and Mildred has a feeling their time off was less a reward and more for Miss Drill’s own sanity.

It's not that Mildred wants to be in broomstick lessons, not really, but she has to admit she’s...bored. She should be studying, of course, but she can't concentrate, too restless and off kilter for some reason she can't quite figure out.

It's quiet in her room, Maud off having a nap and Enid who knows where, probably wreaking havoc she’ll drag them all into later. Just the rain battering against the windows, and Mildred sighs, pressing her forehead against the cool glass.

It's pretty, in its own way, the rain bands on the window and the blur of green beyond. She can barely see anything, and it makes her feel like she's underwater, in a calming sort of way.

Which is probably why the spot of bright pink startles her, enough that she bangs her head on the window trying to get a closer look.

Through the rain, she can just make out the muted figure of Miss Cackle, standing on the lawn. She wasn't there a moment ago, Mildred’s sure. She doesn't appear to be doing anything, just standing, and Mildred wonders if she’s used some sort of spell to keep herself dry, what on Earth she’s doing outside the castle in this weather.

She doesn't have to wait long. A black smear passes over the trees, and lands gently a few yards away. Even through the rain, Mildred can tell the figure is drenched, heavy cloak sodden and hat wilted.

Miss Hardbroom.

Mildred squints, watching as Miss Cackle hurries to her side, and summons what looks like a thick blanket from nowhere, and wraps it around HB’s shoulders.

She’s too far to see much of anything, no matter how hard she tries, but she swears Miss Hardbroom takes Miss Cackle’s hands, and—

Kisses them?

Mildred blinks, shaking her head before squinting harder out the window. They aren't moving, don't appear to be in any rush to get indoors, and Mildred’s eyes widen as Miss Cackle arches up on her toes and busses a kiss to Miss Hardbroom’s cheek.

Was that her cheek?

Are they— _kissing?_

Mildred rubs at her eyes and blinks frantically for a moment before unlatching the window and unceremoniously sticking her head out into the rain.

She can't see much better, what with the water in her eyes, and both of them have turned, heading toward the castle. Miss Cackle has her hand on Miss Hardbroom’s back over the blanket as they walk.

She's always known they were close, despite their differences. Ever since Selection Day her first year, when she saw how Miss Hardbroom softened around Miss Cackle after she was in danger, Mildred’s known they were more than colleagues. But they've never given any indication they were something more than friends _._ And Mildred knows herself. She may not be good at potions or flying, but she’s observant—she’d have noticed if they were together.

Shaking her head, Mildred ducks back inside and closes the window. Her hair is plastered to her head and she shivers and searches for a towel.

It must have been the rain, she decides, making her see funny things.

  


**_iv._ **

Miss Hardbroom looks _horrible_.

Her normally pale face has whitened even more, her lips are blanched, her hair in slight disarray. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, glowering at the nurse that tries to check her temperature, waving her off with a gravelled, “I'm fine,” that prompts a horrific coughing fit.

“Hecate,” Miss Cackle scolds gently, “Let her help you.”

Miss Hardbroom looks ready to argue, but Miss Cackle gives her a look Mildred’s been on the receiving end of more than a few times, and HB sighs.

“Fine,” she murmurs, her voice low, and Mildred waits until the nurse is done doing...whatever magic it is she's doing before slowly, tentatively, crossing the room.

“Miss Hardbroom?”

HB’s neck snaps up and her spine straightens, but she sways heavily, and Mildred thinks she might have fallen if it weren't for Miss Cackle’s hand braced against her shoulder.

“Mildred,” she manages, and of all the things Mildred hates, the way Miss Hardbroom says her name, with such naked disappointment, has to top the list.

“I—I just wanted to say I'm sorry. About the potion.”

Miss Hardbroom opens her mouth, presumably to scold her, but another wracking cough shakes her frame.

Mildred winces.

She’s never seen Miss Hardbroom look so small, and it frightens her more than any stern glance ever has.

“Is she going to be alright?”

Miss Cackle nods, even as she summons a glass of water and presses it into HB’s hands. “She’ll be fine, my dear. Just a nasty cold. It should go away in a day or two.”

Mildred bites her lip. “I'm really sorry. It was an accident, I swear, I never meant to—”

“It's alright, Mildred,” Miss Cackle says. “We know you'd never do anything to intentionally harm Miss Hardbroom. Don't we, Hecate?”

Miss Hardbroom gives her a dour look, but eventually sighs, setting her glass on the end table. “It was a mistake,” she offers finally, her voice horribly scratchy, “One I assume you’ll not make again in the future.”

Mildred nods frantically, feeling all the worse for the way Miss Hardbroom nods weakly, her eyes slipping shut.

“I, um. I brought you this,” Mildred says, proffering the box of tea hesitantly. “I didn't do anything to it, I promise. It's just tea.”

Beside her, she can almost feel Miss Cackle stifle a laugh, but her eyes are fixed on HB, who looks...almost touched. She takes the box slowly, cold fingers brushing over Mildred’s, and holds it in her lap, almost reverently.

“Thank you,” she says, and though the words are stiff, her eyes are softer than usual. Mildred thinks that's the best she’ll get, and nods, looking to Miss Cackle for permission to leave.

“Go on, then,” Miss Cackle says. “We’ll determine your lines later.”

Miss Hardbroom snorts, but it turns into another coughing fit that makes Mildred feel horrible. She pauses at the door, wants to apologize again, but neither of the adults seem to notice. Miss Cackle is rubbing her hand over Miss Hardbroom’s back, whispering something Mildred can't quite make out.

She starts to leave, she really does, but something keeps her there, makes her step around the door and peer back into the room, unsure what she's waiting for.

And then, Miss Cackle situates herself on the bed, back against the headboard, and gently tugs Miss Hardbroom into her side. To Mildred’s surprise, Miss Hardbroom goes willingly, with a soft sigh, leaning her head on Miss Cackle’s shoulder, eyes shut.

Mildred knows she should leave, knows neither of them would want her to see this, but she’s frozen in place, the moment so tender she can hardly breathe. Miss Cackle waves her hand, and Miss Hardbroom’s tight bun falls away, leaves her long hair down around her face, and Miss Cackle runs her fingers through it like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Like she’s done it a hundred times.

“Someone could see, Ada,” Miss Hardbroom murmurs, but makes no attempt to move.

Mildred tries to back away, but the moment she takes a step, Miss Cackle looks up and catches her eye.

She says nothing, and yet says everything, her gaze piercing but kind, her hand never faltering as it glides through Miss Hardbroom’s hair.

“There’s no one around,” she assures, giving Mildred a meaningful stare.

Mildred nods, and Miss Cackle smiles before turning her attention back to HB.

Mildred slips quietly away.

  


 

**_+i_ **

There’s a snake in the great hall.

Except it isn’t a snake, it's a student, and it isn't small, it's enormous, towering above the group gathered against the wall in fear, and for once, Mildred is as lost as everyone else. She doesn't know how this happened, what to do, and looks up at the ashen face of Miss Hardbroom; looks across the room at Miss Cackle, standing alone, voice low and measured as she tries to talk it down.

She remembers from her third year class with Mr. Rowan Webb that snakes are intelligent, can be reasoned with, are capable of understanding human thought and behavior.

But this isn't a normal snake, and even Mildred can feel the bad magic crackling in the air around them.

She wants to help, to do _something_ , but Miss Hardbroom has her arm stretched out in front of her, holding her back, like she knows.

“Ada, be careful,” she says, for what seems like the hundredth time.

Miss Cackle smiles tightly.

“I'm alright, Hecate. It's just Lilah. She knows me, don't you?”

The snake hisses and writhes.

Miss Cackle keeps talking and Mildred can hear someone crying and the snake keeps staring and it all happens so fast, Mildred doesn't understand.

One moment the snake has calmed, seems to be listening, seems to know—and then its head rears back, and Mildred hears a cry, a desperate,

“Ada, look out!”

And then Miss Hardbroom is gone, reappears in front of Miss Cackle just as the snake lashes out with its tail, sends Miss Hardbroom flying across the hall, and she hits the wall with a sickening crack and stills.

Miss Cackle screams.

Everyone is screaming, but Miss Cackle’s is the worst sound Mildred has ever heard. The snake lunges again, and this time Miss Cackle is ready, strikes back with a blast of magic that freezes it in place.

“I'm sorry,” she says, “I'm sorry,” as the snake writhes in some invisible binding. “Forgive me,” she says, and there’s another wave of magic from Miss Cackle that appears to knock it out. It sways, looks almost betrayed, Mildred thinks, then slumps to the ground with a thud.

Mildred doesn't know if it's dead—can't imagine it is, can't believe Miss Cackle would do such a thing to a student, ever.

But when she looks back, Miss Cackle is gone, transferred to Hecate’s side, cradling her still form in her lap, hands outstretched over her frame.

No one moves. The hall is silent, only Miss Cackle’s murmuring, a spell, Mildred thinks, that does nothing. Miss Hardbroom doesn't move, doesn't wake.

Mildred finds herself moving closer, the only one, and she wants to do something, anything, but doesn't know what. Doesn't know how.

“Come on, Hecate,” Miss Cackle whispers, patting her cheek gently. “Come on, dear.”

Nothing happens.

Miss Cackle makes a sound somewhere between a cry and a sob and holds her hands out over Miss Hardbroom again, eyes closed, chanting, her voice trembling, interspersed with pleas,

“Don't you dare, Hecate,” and, “Come back, darling, come back to me.”

Mildred thinks back to the first day, the day she met them both, and suddenly sees what she couldn't then, couldn't see even a year ago, when she watched them from her window in the rain.

Sees the tears on Miss Cackle’s face, hears the desperation in her voice, the anguish, the love.

“Damn it, Hecate, wake up!”

Mildred starts at the sudden exclamation, the burst of magic, the light that flares and dies from Miss Cackle’s hands.

Without thinking, Mildred crosses the room and stands behind Miss Cackle, manages, barely,

“Is she—?”

“I'm not strong enough,” Miss Cackle says, more to herself than Mildred, an angry repetition full of self loathing that goes against the gentle hand on Miss Hardbroom’s face, the way her thumb brushes over her cheek. “Hecate, please. I'm not strong enough.”

Mildred bites her lip.

She looks at Maud, at Enid, at all the girls standing there, motionless.

She looks down at Miss Hardbroom.

Looks at Miss Cackle.

“We aren't many, we are one,” she says.

Miss Cackle blinks, and for the first time, looks up, her face streaked with tears.

She says nothing, so Mildred swallows, puts her hand on Miss Cackle’s shoulder and says it again, louder, firmer.

She looks to her friends, already approaching, and takes Maud’s outstretched hand.

“We aren't many, we are one.”

The girls who remember are quick to form a circle, the others easily guided, the phrase repeated, again and again and Miss Cackle turns back, places her hands over Miss Hardbroom’s heart and when she speaks, her chant is like a prayer.

Mildred feels the magic almost instantly, the thrum of it, hers and all the others and the brightest of all, Miss Cackle’s.

She knows emotions can power spells, knows how determination or anger or thoughtlessness can alter the strength of magic.

But she's never felt anything like this, never known how powerful love could be until she feels it, coursing through her, white light surrounding them, surrounding Miss Hardbroom. She can feel every ounce of it like it was her own, a love that is both desperate and calm, all consuming and uplifting, dangerous and beautiful. It holds no reservations, no caveats, no conditions.

Mildred loves her mother and loves her friends and her school but this is different, something she’s never felt before and fiercely hopes she will again someday. Because Miss Cackle’s love is endless, wide and deep and _everything_ and it's all for her, for Miss Hardbroom, and Mildred wonders how she could have missed it.

How none of them could have seen.

Bending down, Miss Cackle presses a kiss to Miss Hardbroom’s forehead, and the magic around them suddenly flares, bright enough to blind them.

When Mildred opens her eyes, Miss Cackle is beaming, and Miss Hardbroom is looking at her, eyes open, smile weak.

“Ada,” she says, the way she always says it, but this time Mildred can hear it so plainly, so clearly.

Miss Cackle chokes, returns her hands to Miss Hardbroom's cheeks and sniffles.

“Don't ever do that again,” she says.

Even in her state, Miss Hardbroom manages to look exasperated. “Unlikely,” she murmurs, her fingers curling around Ada’s elbow.

Miss Cackle laughs, a teary sound of relief and joy and she doesn't seem to notice that everyone is staring.

That they're all smiling.

Miss Hardbroom, however, does, and quickly tries to sit up, to school her expression into something dour and disapproving, but it's too late.

“It’s alright, Hecate. They know.”

Miss Hardbroom blinks. Looks around the circle in confusion, and Miss Cackle shakes her head.

“I needed a little help,” she confesses, and HB’s eyes widen, and for a moment, she looks frightened. Properly terrified, and Mildred wonders at that, at the way she put herself in harm's way without a thought and yet it's this that makes her afraid.

“It's okay,” Mildred says, flushing when HB’s eyes jump to hers. “We understand.” She narrows her gaze in her best impression of Miss Hardbroom and looks around the circle. “Don’t we?”

Everyone nods, some still smiling, and Miss Hardbroom stares at her, looks torn and confused and almost nervous, until Mildred smiles and says, “We’re just glad you’re okay.”

There’s a ripple of agreement, and HB glances around, sees the frozen snake—student—sees the circle, sees the smiling faces of her students. Finally, she nods, and lets Miss Cackle take some of her weight, a shaky hand gripping Miss Cackle’s arm as they shuffle to their feet. Miss Hardbroom sways, looks dizzy, and Miss Cackle wraps an arm around her waist, holds her close, so gently and with such care that Mildred feels her eyes sting.

“I’m alright, Ada,” Miss Hardbroom says quietly.

Miss Cackle smiles, watery but bright. “Of course you are.”

It’s then that the other teachers rush in, Miss Drill and Miss Bat and Mr. Rowan-Webb, all concerned questions and confusion, and Miss Cackle looks relieved, tells them quickly what happened, asks Miss Drill to watch over Lilah and Miss Bat to return the students to their rooms for now.

“What are you going to do?” Miss Drill asks. Miss Cackle looks at Miss Hardbroom, still leaning against her, and Miss Drill shakes her head. “Go,” she tells them.

They vanish, to where Mildred doesn’t know, but she can hazard a guess. The moment they’re gone, the hall erupts in noise, in gossip, in murmurs of _HB and Miss Cackle? Can you believe it!_ and even Maud looks at Mildred questioningly.

“Did you know? That they were together?”

“No,” she admits, then laughs. “But it was pretty obvious, wasn’t it?” At Maud and Enid’s frowns, Mildred shrugs. “It was there all along. We just didn’t see it.”

“And who knows?” they overhear a first year saying, “Maybe HB will relax now that everyone knows!”

Mildred, Maud, and Enid all glance at each other before shaking their heads and laughing. _“Nah.”_

  
  



End file.
